


Far Too Young To Die

by PrinceVenus



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Death, F/M, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Lots of relationships: will add them as they appear, M/M, Witchcraft, lots of gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-05-22 14:48:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6083601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceVenus/pseuds/PrinceVenus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps it's a play on fate, some god testing just how far he can push Caspar before he hits his limit. Because the person behind the door knows him very well, extremely well, better-than-anyone well. That person shouldn't be here.</p>
<p>That person should be six foot under, in the local cemetery, certainly not looking like utter perfection after five years of decomposing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The English Summer

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to hell

The weather never forecast for any kind of rain, let alone the ominous thunder rolling in from the south. It drew closer with every waiting breath, and Joe and Caspar were still at least half an hour away from their apartment.

It's not such a bitter prospect until the rain actually falls, hard and fast, soaking their jumpers in seconds. Joe curses, and Caspar frantically covers his head with his hands, but there's nothing that can be done. It's dark, it's loud, and they're going to catch pneumonia.

Every footstep is drowned out by the clattering rain against the pavement, and Caspar knows he jumps every time the lightning splits the sky overhead, scaring him more than it ought to. Joe yells something, but it's too much on Caspar's ears. He can't hear a thing.

The thunderstorm must be nigh directly above the city as they make a mad dash for home, crashing down around them in absolute fury. There's no space between the strip of white across the sky and the booming, resounding _crack_ as it comes to life. Caspar can feel the electricity in the air, and he can taste the fear on his tongue.

Water is running over the sidewalks, splashing down the drains and only adding to the din. Caspar can barely see in front of him in the misty haze, but he can feel every thud of his sneakers against the wet slabs of concrete, and the ringing in his ears after every lightning strike. The rain has plastered his hair down his face, and it _stings_ where it touches him, like thousands of needles being pressed into his bare neck and arms. He's not sure he even has his eyes open at this point; he can feel the droplets cascading over his features and catching in his eyelashes.

He's numb and impossibly weary, beyond even registering the tug on his jumper until he's forced to topple sideways, out of the direct path of the vicious storm. Caspar can hear Joe panting across from him, and he sinks to the ground, back pressed against solid bricks, finally cracking his eyes open to stare at the horror outside. They're huddled in an alcove shielding a building's front door, a small but welcome refuge.

Joe doesn't make a move to mirror Caspar's position, instead pulling out his phone and failing to brush the sopping hair form his forehead. They'll get sick if they don't dry off soon, but Caspar can't find an ounce of energy to care. Joe taps hurriedly on the dimly lit screen, and everything goes silent for a few moments, save the wailing of a siren somewhere in the distance.

Joe huffs, dropping his hand, and flicking his hair back again. "It's that SOS only reception thing," he states loudly, displaying his phone screen in Caspar's general direction. Caspar can't actually see anything for all the watery smudges, but he nods, accepting Joe's word. No chance of a taxi or Uber at this stage, apparently.

Lightning strikes again somewhere, and this time, Caspar swears he can hear it as it collides with the ground. There's a fizzling energy left in the air, making Caspar's body hair stand on end, but it's not until Joe shouts incomprehensibly that dread nestles it's way into Caspar's stomach.

He can see what Joe's pointing at, too. A small boy, barely taller than Caspar's hip. He's holding an umbrella above his head in one hand, and a glowing lantern in the other, although neither is keeping him from the torrential downpour. Not that it appears to matter to him, because he's _dancing_.

"What the hell?" Caspar murmurs, leaning to stare at the strange sight. Is the boy lost?

Even from here, the child's laughter surrounds Caspar, eerily clear in the thundering storm. He's pointing at the pair huddled away, cackling like it was some great joke that Caspar missed.

"Oh, bloody hell," Joe curses, and Caspar barely witnesses him pull his hood over his head before Joe's jogging out into the rain again, towards the joyous figure.

Caspar can understand Joe's reasoning, especially with no sign of parents nearby, but he can't hold back from the instantaneous panic taking over his body. " _Joe!_ "

The boy jumps in a puddle, causing a large splash, much larger than what would be expected of a small being. But Caspar's attention is on Joe, skidding to a halt besides a street lamp, just as the boy visually disappears. There's a crack, a spectacular light, and a scream. Joe's on the ground, everything smells burnt, and there's the morbid kind of denial already setting in Caspar's bones.

It takes too long for the paramedics to arrive. They treat Caspar as the injured one, the one who desperately requires attention. Somewhere, deep down, Caspar knows why.

—

It's been nearly five years now, so Caspar believes he has more than enough justification to slam the door closed and pretend nothing happened. Tonight's been a weird night, and this might just take the cake.

There was the woman who brought around the eggplants, the one who lives next door and sometimes has weird smells coming from her apartment. This was nothing too out-of-the-ordinary for the daily life of Caspar Lee; he'd long since learnt not to question her, or her roommate whom's hands were nearly always stained green. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, but he felt he could rightfully raise his eyebrows at the suspicious activity.

The woman gave him his annual eggplant: nothing strange. She did this every year, at seemingly random points, always smiling and wishing Caspar a good night. She was nice, Caspar liked her, he just didn't want to question her eccentric habits.

He left the eggplant on his bench, not really sure where to keep this year's gift. Last year, he'd left it in the pantry until it had grown mould, which had resulted in a devastating effect on the remainder of Caspar's edible food supply.

He'd left to take a shower instead, figuring there was no reason in worrying himself about the large, purple vegetable just yet.

Or so he'd thought. Caspar had returned, rubbing a towel over his head, to a slightly different eggplant. This one was actually identical to the last, except it had a large, inhumanly large, bite out of the side. Caspar couldn't see how the eggplant could be the same one from earlier, ere missing chunk, even if it was the exact same shape, and had the exact same knuckle-sized bruise in its side, so naturally, he assumed it was an entirely different vegetable.

Caspar's kitchen light fixture chose that exact moment to start flickering wildly, before producing a loud cracking sound and sending the kitchen into darkness. Caspar slumped, grumbling on his way out of the shadowed area, letting the towel drape over his head.

He didn't even _have_ a spare bulb to replace it with. More work tomorrow.

And then doorbell rings, just moments after the bulb threw a fit, at nearly 11 pm. This time, Caspar has to refrain from groaning, in case his impromptu visitor actually hears him. He slings his towel around his waist, instead of opting for actual clothes, because he can't imagine anyone coming knocking at his door at this hour who _doesn't_ know him well.

Perhaps it's a play on fate, some god testing just how far he can push Caspar before he hits his limit. Because the person behind the door knows him very well, extremely well, better-than-anyone well. That person shouldn't be here.

That person should be six foot under, in the local cemetery, certainly not looking like utter perfection after _five years of decomposing._

Caspar likes to think he has a chill output. Maybe it's his actual personality, maybe it's a defence mechanism. He's not really sure, however, that it's appropriate for this very situation.

"Hello, Joseph Sugg."

—

Dan was used to the unusual daily grind he'd found himself in. It was probably karma for meeting his roommate on the internet, and taking no extra precautions to avoid moving in with a psychopath.

He wasn't quite sure Phil could reject the psychopath term. He was insane, for the most part, but Dan had never bothered browsing deeper to assign an _actual_ definition to the practice.

As much as he was accepting of Phil's non-binary methods of living, he absolutely could not stand the wild animals. It had been a struggle to simply allow Phil ( _allow,_ like he'd had a choice in the first place) to drag in every stray animal off the street, and only because they never stayed past their due. Phil had a way of alerting creatures that they were better off outside again (provided they visit regularly. Phil gets too attached). But wild beasts from the nearby reserve? Phil was really pushing his luck.

As it was, Dan was stuck babysitting a fox, while Phil holed up in the study trying to perfect a spell for _protecting bloody moths_

Not just any fox at that, but one that had the capability and moral understanding of being an absolute asshole.

Most animals just tore through a couch leg or two and knocked over a pot plant. Harmless things; turning the apartment into chaos but never actually being malicious.

The fox wasn't malicious by any standards, but it was certainly out for Dan's emotional stability. It had already dragged out two pairs of Dan's underwear and hidden them in various kitchen locations (the bread case and Phil's cereal, respectively). It had taunted the grumpy old stray cat Phil had spotted in the neighbouring apartment block's yard a few days ago, tempting it over with a twitching tail and barking loudly to scare the mean-spirited thing (maybe Dan looked away for that part, he wasn't exactly as fond of the cat as Phil was).

But now, it's halfway up the curtains, _grinning._ Sharp teeth bared as it swings wildly and the curtain rods threaten to snap. It knows what it's doing, but there is no real consequence when it could just nick off to it's forest home afterwards the damage is done.

Dan's resorted to prodding it with a broom handle. He'd tried to get close once, but the fox had given him the eyes that said 'I dare you'. Dan hadn't approached it again.

As if the night could go any worse, the doorbell rings.

Dan drops his weapon in fright, and the fox gives a loud yip of triumph, using the momentary loss of concentration Dan suffered to scramble a good half a metre up the curtain.

Dan doesn't like talking to people in general, but this is probably going to get much worse than his usual premonitions of awkward silences and weak jokes. Because who else would be arriving at the apartment this close to midnight, other than one of Phil's magical friends?

Dan respects the art, but in no way does he want to interfere with the dealings. Several times, Phil has offered to teach him basic spells, or shown him some important runes, but Dan's always turned it down. He can be curious in what Phil is trying to achieve, but that's really only because it's _Phil_ who's trying to achieve it.

Which is exactly why he doesn't want to deal with any of Phil's companions at this hour.

Dan throws a pleading glance towards the door leading to the study down the hall, but karma is _definitely_ against him. Phil stays locked away beyond Dan's control, and the doorbell rings again.

"Coming," he moans, shooting a glare at the fox before moving to the entryway and unlocking the door-

-to reveal one man in white robes, and another in a maroon sweater and jeans. The robed man has bright, mint-green hair, momentarily startling Dan.

_Definitely magical._

The sweater-wearing man wastes no time in introducing himself. Perhaps because he doesn't actually spend any time at all on it.

"I believe you have something of ours, and I can imagine you don't want it anymore," he states, not unkindly, raising one long arm to rest on the doorframe. It's a seemingly unconscious move, but Dan's smart enough to see the _I'm-not-leaving_ statement concealed within it.

Dan shrugs, because what else can he do? The speaker is wearing this expression of calm and uncaring intentions, but his eyes scan Dan's face with sharp intensity.

"Come in," he says, standing back and waving his arm to the interior of the apartment. "Sorry about the mess," he adds, cringing. Both men look like extremely neat, professional figures, and this apartment is...well, _not._

Neither guest seems taken aback by the wild state of the lounge room at all. The shorter of the two, the one wearing the robes, has a wicked grin and is already making his way over the fox, which was now in the process of sinking it's claws into the very top of the curtains.

"I wouldn't..." Dan begins, flinching in preparation for the attack, but surprised as the fox comes away from the curtain with no issue, practically launching itself into the man's waiting arms.

"Connor, you lil' shit," the appropriately-dressed man chastises from behind Dan, and it takes a moment to realise that he's talking to the fox. "Who knows what kind of mess you could've gotten in to?"

Dan is about to inform the man _exactly_ where his fox pet has been for the last 24 hours, but is cut off by another voice.

"Chill, an animal witch lives here. He's zoopathic, too!" the fox says, literally opening it's mouth and chewing out the words.

Dan stumbles back. "Your fox is speaking," he states dumbly.

"Yes, yes I am," the fox replies.

"Not a fox, then?" the fourth person joins the conversation from somewhere to Dan's side, and he audibly sighs in relief, earning a glance from tall-and-gangly-sweater-man.

Phil strides out, coated in dusty coal black up to the elbow, and wearing a wide grin. Either his spell had gone dashingly well, or he'd finally gotten hungry and just happened to come out in time. Probably the latter, Dan surmises. There'd certainly been no loud explosions as of yet, or the thump of Phil hitting the ground as he passed out again.

"Phil!" shouts the obnoxiously-coloured-hair man, dropping his fox and leaping over the coffee table to greet an apparent friend. He seemed not to understand human standards of politeness and care for furniture as he bounced once on the couch, and perched on the back like some kind of deformed bat.

"Tyler! Long time no see! How's the leg?" Phil responds, gesturing towards Tyler's right leg.

Tyler bounces a little in place. "Absolutely fine, you fixed it up great!"

Dan shakes his head, more than a little confused. Phil only operates on animals; he has no kind of medical license for humans too. "So the fox isn't a fox, and the human isn't a human?" Dan interrupts. "I suppose you're not what you look like either, then," he adds bluntly, raising an eyebrow in the tall man's direction.

"No, I suppose not," is the only answer he receives, which really only damages Dan's understanding more.

"This is Tyler, he's a-" Phil pauses, glancing towards Tyler with hesitation. When he receives a quick nod in return, he continues "-a tanuki."

"A tanuki," Dan repeats.

Phil nods.

"You're telling me this fellow here is the same creature as in the Super Mario Bros."

Tyler pushes his hair up a little, puffing out his chest. "I have no clue what that is, sorry." Turning to his friend, his grin widens. "This is Troye, my, uh...companion."

Dan lifts both eyebrows this time, gazing with unguarded suspicion. There's a look in Troye's eyes that seems misplaced; it's like he's far too familiar with his environment already.

"Kitsune, yes?" Phil guesses, pointing a finger at the fox, who's resorted to grinning again. It's wholly off-putting, and Dan just wants to go fall into an induced coma until these people leave.

"Connor," the fox replies in answer, licking a paw.

"Well, nice to meet you all, I'm Phil," Phil states, sweeping his arm out. "If you have time, I was just about to brew some tea?"

Dan has to awkwardly cover his groan with a cough, huffing into his shoulder. Troye gives another sharp look, because apparently _nothing_ passes this man.

"We'd love to."

—

"Alfie, this is shit."

"Probably literally."

Marcus comically spits out his tea, similar to a cliche movie reveal, only more gagging and glares. "What the hell have you been growing?" he hisses between spitting and wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"The hyosube got to my plants outside!" Alfie defends, throwing his arms up in the air. "What was I _supposed_ to do?"

"Give them the eggplant offering Louise dropped off tonight!" Marcus retorts, standing up and moving to the kitchen, carefully manoeuvring his tea down the drain.

"I did!"

Marcus huffs. "Are you sure you're even growing those things right? Niomi says even _she_ has trouble, and she's a full green witch."

Alfie slumps down into Marcus' vacated chair, picking up the book lying open on the table and flicking through in interest. "I'm learning."

Marcus gives Alfie a frown and lifts the book from his hands. "Then keep learning. This book on tea isn't going to help you."

"Full moon is tomorrow," Alfie says, waving him off. "I've got nothing to do until then."

"Louise brought that book Niomi promised to lend you, didn't she?"

Alfie groans, sinking into the couch. "Yeah, but that's boring."

Marcus crosses his arms, pointing to the rune covered book lying on the kitchen bench. "Go, now."

"Don't wanna."

"I can always make you up some of my-"

Alfie's upright in a second, leaping from the chair and away from Marcus' knowing grin. "No, no, it's fine, I'll read the book!"

Marcus chuckles, waving his hands in placation. "I've got an herbal remedy for a customer to prepare anyway, relax. Go read, get some sleep."

—

It was awkward, to say the least. Joe hadn't seemed to realise who resided in this particular apartment until Caspar opened the door, gaping up at Caspar like _he'd_ been the one presumed dead for five years. It hadn't taken long after that though, before Joe had bustled his way in and started etching marks into Caspar's door frame with a tiny pocket knife. He wasn't answering any questions.

Not that Caspar was giving any.

He'd moved to the kitchen, and put on a kettle for tea, because that's what a good host does, right? Even if he's playing host to an extreme lookalike of his late best friend.

Joe had never mentioned any twin siblings or anything of the like....or any similar-aged family at all. Caspar had, of course, met Joe's father, but he wasn't _really_ a contending lookalike.

As the water began to bubble within the kettle, Caspar considers his options.

If everything goes to shit, and he becomes endangered because he invited a psychopath inside his apartment, then he can call emergency services, but right now, Caspar thinks that's hardly necessary. He could call Josh, who had only just recently moved from nearby in the last few weeks, but Caspar didn't really feel like that was much of a viable option either. Josh had been acting weird ever since he arrived, even as Caspar helped him unpack and shift furniture.

There'd been a girl who'd turned up halfway through the process without announcing herself like she owned the place, and Josh seemed to be more than comfortable with it. Caspar had just put it down to a girlfriend Josh hadn't spoken up about yet, although the idea itself made Caspar a little mad. He and Josh were close, but apparently not close enough to tell the other when they'd entered a steady relationship.

The girl had disappeared upstairs anyway, and Caspar left soon after.

Caspar didn't know any of his neighbours well enough to rely on them for help. There are the women down the hall, and two more apartments below, making for a four-apartment block. Everyone living within the walls are....eccentric, and Caspar had considered moving out on more than one occasion.

Take the people living directly below him, for example. Caspar swore he could hear various menagerie sounds from that apartment at all hours of the day (and night. It could be infuriating at times), despite the distinct rule defining that there were to be _no pets_.

Caspar wasn't really sure wolves were legal to own. Did they even _have_ wolves in England?

The kettle automatically clicks off as the temperature reaches it's peak, steam washing out through the top, and Caspar stuffs his phone into his back pocket. There's no reason he can't go and investigate by himself first; he probably just panicked and misinterpreted the stranger's appearance. _Caspar_ is definitely the one acting weird.

Pulling out two mismatched mugs, Caspar's hand hovers over the various teas lined up on the top shelf. Caspar had always preferred lemongrass and similar, it was so much sweeter, but Joe's favourite had been more towards the spiced selections; even now, Caspar could still pick out the box of chai tea pushed towards the back that Joe had loved so much, gathering dust as it sat untouched. Caspar hadn't the heart to toss it out last week, after he accidentally brought home the box whilst grocery shopping, instead of the usual breakfast tea. Another not-so-pleasant reminder that Caspar still wasn't entirely accustomed to his life alone, that he still hadn't learnt to only buy enough food for one.

Biting his tongue, Caspar swiped the chai from the back, frowning. It's not like he was ever going to use it anyway, he may as well serve it to his guest rather than deplete his own stores. That is all; it's only logic driving Caspar as he filled the two mesh infusers with the dried leaves.

Even from his vantage point in the kitchen, Caspar couldn't see where the eery stranger had vanished too, so it came as a surprise when he wandered back into the lounge room to find his guest sunk back on the couch, eyes closed and wearing a bittersweet smile that made Caspar shiver. He knows that expression all too well, but it belonged in his past; certainly, it should not be sitting on his couch with comfortable familiarity.

Caspar clears his throat awkwardly, setting down the cup before the man, and meticulously avoiding all eye contact like his life depended on it. The cup rattled slightly as it hit the table, liquid sloshing around, and there's a hum of surprise.

It isn't until Caspar has settled back stiffly in an armchair that the silence is completely shattered. "You still remember?"

Caspar stares down into his tea, feeling far to nauseous to actually dare to drink anything. "Yeah."

"Ginger spice too, I never could find this one anywhere after- I thought they'd taken it off the shelves for good."

Caspar wants to scream, and it's an odd desire. He's not _uncomfortable_ , but everything just seems wrong. Why are they discussing tea like old friends, rather than the presence of the impossible in Caspar's apartment?

"Yeah," Caspar mumbles along, fighting the urge to run and lock himself in his room. The temptation only gets stronger when the stranger sets their tea down and clicks his tongue softly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you tonight." Pause, sigh. "Well, I did, but I didn't think it'd be _you_ and-"

With a tense hand, Caspar replaces his untouched drink on the coffee table, fingers immediately returning to fiddle at a loose thread in the armrest. "You didn't interrupt anything, I was only just- oh." The next words die on Caspar's tongue as he realises his less than orthodox attire for the evening; that is, a single white towel around his waist and damp hair that's still sending cold drops down his back occasionally. "I apologise, I'll go change immediately. Please, make yourself comfortable."

The last sentiment was more for Caspar's sake than the stranger's, considering how accustomed he seemed to be to Caspar's apartment already. Even the image alone is enough to send Caspar's head reeling. The sickening internal motion only thickens as Caspar rises to his feet, and immediately feels the strikingly cold grip on his wrist.

"You don't have to, Cas!" the man blurts out, and the surprise is enough to have Caspar forgetting his methodical aversion. There are several things wrong with the snapshot moment, and Caspar struggles to fit everything into place as he stares down in shock at the pale man on his couch.

The one puzzle piece that really doesn't fit is the one that confuses Caspar the most, understandably. Because no one is _that_ cold in the middle of summer, right? It wasn't an ice-cold, just-been-holding-frozen-peas-bag cold, nor a I-have-a-medical-condition kind of cold either.

It was the same kind of cold that Caspar hadn't ever desired to experience again, even in the most boiling of temperatures. It was the cold of his deceased dog after returning home from school one day, the cold of his grandfather's hand in the hospital.

The cold that had taken over Joe's body in the rain that night, leeching away any life and warmth like they were toxic.

The man seemed to cave in Caspar's clear hesitation, his shoulders falling with a resigned feel. He didn't let go of Caspar's wrist. "We need to talk."

—

"You've got quite the collection now," Troye says, waving his hand mildly at the variety of beasts wandering freely. Several of them had already confronted their curiosity, curling up at Tyler's feet (and in Connor's lap, where he sat on the floor), but the remainder were mainly peeking out from behind chairs and over cereal boxes on the kitchen bench. It was weird, Dan hadn't seen them like this since that huge thunderstorm last month.

Dan also couldn't wrap his head around the _now_ in Troye's statement _,_ as if he had been here before. Phil hadn't met him until tonight, or at least that had been what it seemed.

Phil shrugs, absentmindedly beckoning a tiny gecko down from the wall, either unaware or just ignoring Troye's absurd nature. "It tends to fluctuate a bit, although this is probably the most we've ever housed. Last time Tyler was here, the intake was fairly slow."

Troye shares a tiny glance with Tyler, one which does not go unnoticed by Dan. "You haven't had any strange dogs come in recently, have you?" he asks slowly, enunciating each word like he was putting extra care into what information he reveals. Dan's beginning to dislike the man, as friendly as he may be. Something just wasn't quite right about him.

Tyler apparently shares the same idea, pausing in the petting of the labrador by his feet, and staring warily at Phil like he was expecting terrible news. The forgotten dog lets out a small whimper, nuzzling in closer and nudging Tyler's hand until he resumes the pattern.

"I don't think so...you lost something? I can call all our current residents out, if you need," Phil says, stretching out and letting the gecko wander onto his hand.

Troye brings his fingers below his nose, touching the skin, and draws away to investigate. "If it was here now, it would've come out," he says, like the action was entirely normal. "Still, I urge you to keep a look out."

Connor chuckles from on the floor, scratching a tiny poodle behind the ear. "They couldn't tell I wasn't just an animal, how are they supposed to detect for inuga-"

A sharp glare from Troye shuts him up, even from where Connor is positioned facing away from Troye, but Dan's already filing away the extra information for later use.

"They'll know," Troye says, rubbing a hand over his face. Leaving his palm resting over one half, he peeks up at Phil across the coffee table. "I suppose your friends haven't informed you of any dragons in the area, either?"

Phil pauses at this one, staring down at the gecko curled in his hand. It stares back, and they maintain silent eye contact for a good twenty seconds before it curls up, head tucked over its tail. Phil shakes his head, offering an apologetic smile. "Apparently hasn't been any sign of a dragon around here for years, sorry."

There's a short hiss from the kitchen archway, and Phil turns to look at the python, curled against the wall. Phil's eyes stay glued to the snake, and it waves it's head about in a exact manner, seeking something. Dan faintly remembers Phil saying something about being blind, or vision impairment in light, or something of a similar kind.

Abstractly, Phil adds, "there's that new store opening just south of here, they might have what you need in stock."

Troye hums thoughtfully, thumbing his lip. "I'll check it out tomorrow perhaps." Rising to his feet, he offers a hand out to Tyler, hauling his partner up too as though they'd both had the same thought to leave. "For now, it's quite late, and from the looks of it you already have some business to be attending to," Troye says, with a meaningful look at Phil's hands. "Thank you for the tea, and for keeping our _precious fox_ so healthy."

Connor's already dusted the animals from his lap, popping back into his earlier form with a sneer in Troye's general direction. "Bite me," he teases, slipping between Tyler's legs and tripping him up as the ragtag group heads towards the front door.

"Nice to meet you, Dan, Phil," Troye tosses over his shoulder, before all three disappear outside before Phil can even get up to guide them out.

Phil's already cheerfully humming, abandoning his tea and heading back to the study, to finish off whatever he had started like the interaction was nothing but of the norm, and maybe it was. Dan didn't think he had any real say in what was normal and what was not when it came to Phil's universe.

Dan is still frozen where he sits, eyeing the front door warily. He'd never said anything about his name to the three men, but Troye had left with the name on his lips anyway. Dan can feel it in his stomach that it won't be the last he sees of the odd trio.

—

"You're dead," Caspar says with finality, crossing his arms.

Joe flinches. "Kind of."

"You don't know why you're alive."

A nod.

Caspar pauses. "You died in my arms, and you want me to believe that you _magically_ came back to life?"

"You don't really have much of a choice," Joe says plainly, waving his arms up and down his body in a form of presentation.

"How long have you been alive?"

Joe hesitates this time, glancing away. The movement only motivates the constant rolling inside Caspar, and he steps back, suddenly unsure of how offended he should be.

"Joe."

Joe takes a deep breath, gripping his biceps and huddling in. "Nearly five years."

That's the real breaking point for Caspar. Joe gives him this _look,_ a pleading 'don't go' kind of thing, but Caspar is already pulling his coat from the back of the couch and speedily walking through the front door. He's entirely too thankful for actually getting dressed earlier, even after Joe stopped him the first time.

The door slams just behind him, and Caspar all but runs down the hall. He's listening for the door reopening as he takes the stairs in leaping bounds, but there's nothing. He's not sure whether he's glad or disappointed Joe didn't chase after him.

Caspar finds himself at a local all-night cafe, just two blocks over from his apartment. He ignores the weird look from the girl in the corner, who's doodling patterns all over a sheet of notebook paper, and orders a coffee. He chooses a table across the room, settling back and pulling out his phone.

It's going to be a long night, and he wants to use as much of it as he can to decipher this new information.


	2. When the Sun Goes Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie twists the cup, watching the pink tinged liquid slosh around. “This isn’t going to kill me, right?”
> 
> “Not any more than your crop of elder flowers will.”
> 
> Alfie glares at her over the rim of the china cup, taking a sip. “What’s this supposed to be doing to me?”
> 
> “It’s a love spell,” Niomi says nonchalantly, perching on the opposite edge of the sofa and smiling down. “Is it good?”
> 
> Alfie frowns, slowly pulling the cup from his lips.

Marcus is humming at the work counter, drumming his fingers in an absurdly irregular manner against the pale wood. It’s already driving Alfie up the wall, but he’s smart enough to know when an interruption could cost him his cheap rent rates. So instead, he flips his (borrowed) book upside down and continues his study.

“It should be on its left side, not the right,” Marcus points out, which only deepens Alfie’s scowl.

“It looks the same anyway,” he grumbles, flipping the book until the photo printed is rotated in the way Marcus instructs. He would never admit it out loud, but things suddenly became a whole lot clearer.

“I’m not raising you to be a moody bitch,” Marcus says lightly, attention already back on the tiny dishes in front of him. Each contains a small set of organic matter, ranging from dried leaves and fresh flowers, to crushed berries and rock dust. Alfie swore he saw one of the dish contents wriggling earlier, but he really didn’t want to investigate further. He’d rather just drink the remedies without having to know what was inside.

“I’m not your son.”

“How dare you repay all my hard work with these cruel words.”

Alfie snaps the heavy bound book shut, sinking further into his beloved armchair. Pressing his fingers into a steeple, he gazes over the top at Marcus as he furiously scratches notes in to the book Niomi had bought him a week ago. “Rough work?”

Marcus grunts, his tongue protruding ever so slightly as he dots his final sentence, sliding the pen back to it’s original resting place behind his right ear. “I’ve never had to cure something like this. I can’t figure out the right combination.”

Marcus’ apron shuffles as he spins around, whisking open one of hundreds of tiny square draws tucked away against the wall. “The ginger lemongrass I gave the woman last week should’ve cured all the ailments of her son, but I got a call yesterday saying he’d only gotten worse.”

Alfie leans forward, dropping his hands as he recognises the oddly serious tone. “Have they visited a hospital?”

Marcus nods, and Alfie lets out a sigh of relief. “Doc thinks it’s just a rough cold, perhaps a bout of flu.”

“Maybe it is.”

“I’ve never encountered a flu that could withstand magic,” Marcus mutters, pulling out two spiked green leaves and dropping them into the nearest stone bowl. “The tea should’ve at least stopped the signs from worsening.”

Alfie hums thoughtfully. “Is the boy protected by a charm of some sort, preventing any alteration by magic?”

“Not that his mother knows of.”

“How old?”

“Only seven.”

Alfie sighs, rising to his feet. “I’ll go do some snooping around, see if anyone’s heard of a new demon presence or something.”

“Would you?” Marcus dusts his hands off, smiling. “That’d be awesome, thank you.”

“All in a day’s work,” Alfie salutes, shrugging on the nearest jacket. It probably belonged to Marcus, but that was beyond the point. “I’ll be back later.”

—

Dan wasn’t sure when his duties as roommate extended to keeping tabs on Phil’s vital signs, even as he rolled himself out of bed and on his feet in a clean thump. He hadn’t heard any sound, word or otherwise, from Phil or his activities for some time now, which meant it was likely time for Dan to step in to assess the situation and/or damage. He cared very deeply for his eccentric friend, and really had nothing he’d rather do than uncurl himself from his warm blanket-and-wifi cocoon to investigate if that friend had finally keeled over.

In all reality, Dan’s cravings for pizza had hit the roof, but there was no way he’d order it without Phil, lest his ravenous witch-friend appear to steal half of what Dan had (probably) waited far too long for.

Not to say he didn’t care for Phil’s wellbeing, but there was also very little Dan was willing to sacrifice his sanity for by stepping into Phil’s workspace. He’d learnt the first few times that bursting in, even announced, never led to a positive outcome. Dan hadn’t ever been able to catch the mutated toad after that early incident, and he swore it still lives in the ceiling, croaking at him in the dead hours of the morning in sadistic humour.

“Phil?” Dan calls, rapping lightly on the cheap, rattling door. They’d had to replace the thing far too many times now to ever consider buying something even relatively expensive - it’s was all cheap wood and plastic underparts from here out.

With no response, Dan sighs, and presses his ear to the door. Of course it’s never easy, of course there couldn’t just be one time that Phil would appear all bouncy and cheerful after hearing Dan’s voice. He’d probably come out of the room if he smelled pizza, but then again, Dan doesn’t want to risk over-ordering just to discover Phil wasn’t hungry this round. They didn’t have the budget for that kind of mistake, not with all the pet food they were buying on an almost daily basis.

Dan holds his breath, and waits for the usual humming, or the crash of something hitting the floor. At this point, he would’ve accepted a creaking floorboard or the buzzing of a fly, but all was silent. A small, muffled meow sounded by Dan’s feet, as a chocolate brown cat stared up at Dan inquisitively. _Are you sure you want to go in?_

“Bloody hell,” Dan curses, hand hovering over the doorknob. “I’m coming in, Phil, okay?” He wasn’t about to lose to some cat.

He pushes against the door, letting it swing open only a little before slipping around the edge. If Phil was working in darkness, Dan didn’t want to jeopardise that by bringing in the hall light. He felt the brush of fur past his leg, but suppressed the resulting smile. He wasn’t alone in this adventure, but if Phil saw him happy over an animal, that’d only be a green light to invite more woodland creatures inside.

“Phil?”

 _Mrrow_?

“Thanks for that,” Dan mutters in the cat’s direction, as it unsteadily leaps to the top of a filing cabinet and manages to spill a stack of paperwork, yet avoid the bubbling vial on the opposite side like it knew exactly what it could and couldn’t touch. “I guess he’s not here after all.”

“Me?” sprouts a voice from behind, and Dan leaps back in surprise, side connecting with the filing cabinet. He hisses out a string of curses, and the cat lets out a fearful yowl as it’s sent flying to floor, along with several papers and…

“Oh my god, no-“ Phil exclaims as he lunges forward at the exact moment Dan presses away, and the vial hits the floor with a crash. The viscous liquid shoots out in all directions, glowing like some bad space alien movie prop, and illuminating the large circle on the ground. A tiny droplet lands on Dan’s arm, and immediately began to eat away at his skin with a small hiss.

There was no time for Dan to complain about the burning sensation before the substance’s glow grew out of control, turning into a blinding white in combination with all the runes scattered along the outside of the circle.

“You left an active circle unoccupied? _”_ Dan shouts, turning towards Phil’s horrified form. “What kind of-“

An angry meow interrupts Dan’s next line of creative insults, and he turns back just in time to dodge a wild swipe at his face.

“What the f-“

“I was halfway through the new season on Netflix, you bastard!” is the only warning Dan gets before there’s a woman leaping at him, scowling deeply and arms outstretched. Dan flinches back, covering his face in the only preparation he can manage, but the pain never comes.

“I’m not that stupid,” Phil mutters, shuffling forward to where the woman is frozen, glaring holes into Dan’s head. “I at least prepare for the worst.”

Dan scoffs, lowering his arms. “And if your confinement circle hadn’t held? What if she’s a demon?” he snarls, waving his hand at the woman, now held at bay by whatever magical force Phil was using.

“Well, she’s not, demons wouldn’t settle that quickly into human form. Besides, what kind of demon has ears and a tail?”

The woman crosses her arms, leaning back. “I’m not a demon.”

“That’s what a demon would sa-“

Phil slaps a hand over Dan’s mouth, giving him a look. _Don’t fuck this up._

Dan rolls his eyes.

“Bakeneko, right?” Phil asks, approaching the invisible circle barring the vicious woman from the outside world.

The woman shrugs, and Dan watches in stupefied amazement as two cat ears, placed slightly off-centre on either side on the crown of her head, naturally flick in Phil’s direction. “You’re telling me,” she says complacently, nibbling on the end of a claw-like fingernail.

“Amazing,” Phil whispers, stepping around the circle, with particular interest on the brown tail peeking out from underneath her robe. “Where’d you say you came from?”

“I didn’t,” she states with no room for discussion, eyes flicking warily in Dan’s direction.

“If I let you out, will you promise not to attack Dan here?” Phil says, coming to a stop back in front of the strange cat-woman.

“Phil…”

The woman shrugs again, smiling to reveal two sharp fangs. “Sure, I don’t bite.”

“Very funny,” Dan monotones, stepping back into the doorway as Phil works on breaking the circle. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t fearing for his life right now.

The room is silent for a few tense moments, although Dan figures the tension is all on his side as the woman crouches by Phil to watch as he nullifies each individual rune encasing her. Dan swears his roommate slows down the process just to let her fully take it in, and he narrows his eyes at the pair. The bakeneko’s white kimono-looking-thing flops on either side of her body, yet also manages to still look good against her pale skin and brown curls.

“Done!” Phil proclaimed eventually, rising from his knees and brushing off the rogue chalk dust from his black jeans. Laughing awkwardly, he held out his hand in a gesture of friendship. “I’m Phil, by the way, and this is Dan.”

“Sophie,” the woman purrs, smiling warmly at Phil, yet also simultaneously managing to shoot daggers in Dan’s general direction.

You _’_ ve got to be kidding me, Dan thinks, as he retreats from the room with a scowl.

—

Caspar returns home in the early afternoon, hanging his coat and dropping his keys in the dish by the door. There’s no sign of Joe yet, and Caspar can’t help but ask if it was all some crazed hallucination, brought on by too much stress and not enough sleep.

There’s no sign of life in the kitchen or living room, and the bathroom looks untouched. Caspar makes his way into his bedroom, letting out a sigh of relief. Even if it hadn’t been a dream, at least whoever it was had left without too much hassle. Caspar kicks off his shoes, pushes them out of the way with his feet, and flops face first onto his unmade bed. He had a shift at the bakery later this afternoon, but that was still two hours away. Right now, Caspar believed in a shower and a well-earned nap, not particularly in that order.

Even as Caspar’s senses click out one by one, he still manages to catch the muffled groan from next door. Caspar elicits a groan of his own, pushing up on his elbows and letting his head tilt to the side. Surely not. Surely Caspar deserved one good thing today.

There was another pained sound, followed shortly by the shuffling of blankets. Caspar blinked once, twice, before pushing himself all the way to his feet and stumbling back towards the hallway. Joe’s room, old room, was right next to his, the door still fastened shut after all those years ago, when Caspar had his first of many breakdowns and had nailed the door to it’s frame.

Caspar pads over, pressing his palm to the cold wood. “Hello?” he calls softly, leaning in. “Is anyone in there?”

There’s a split second of silence before another rustle of blankets. Caspar rubs his hand over his face, pressing hard against the door and twisting the brass handle. By all logic, the door shouldn’t move, there were too many metal nails hammered in, and yet Caspar hardly imagined logic applying to this situation after the entire fiasco last night.

So when the door swings inward easily, Caspar can’t find himself feeling anything but dull resignation. There’s a lump curled up in Joe’s old bed, a slew of blankets from the hall cupboard tossed haphazardly over the top. There’s the familiar tuft of hair sticking out the side, and a regular pattern of breathing that Caspar can’t help but find comfort in.

Joe’s seemingly created his own cavern under the blankets, whether by choice or unconscious behaviour. Caspar’s about to turn away and leave the enigma to his rest, when the bed squeaks and the blankets contort wildly. There’s a soft groan from within the cocoon, and Caspar frowns.

His feet make no sound as he tiptoes his way over to the side of the bed, gazing down at the sleeping man. He can see how this might be compromising and difficult to explain should Joe wake up, but he’s glad he made the move when he recognises the emotion printed plain before him.

Without pause, Caspar throws the blankets back and edges his way onto the bed, lightly shaking Joe’s shoulders. “Hey, Joe. Wake up, come on.”

Joe shrinks a little in the brisk cold air, understandable considering his choice of dress - a pair of underwear, and odd socks. Caspar smiles weakly. “You never wear socks to bed,” he mutters, dragging Joe a little closer. Joe fights it slightly, his body tensing and his legs twisting in the lump of blankets again.

Caspar sighs, tugging Joe up until his head is in Caspar’s lap, face scrunched up as he fights the dream that is his world for the moment being. Caspar twists his mouth, tangling his hand in Joe’s hair, just like he used to, and investigating every little feature while he still can.

There’s more blemishes now, a scar on his temple and a, hopefully healing, cut under his eye. Caspar’s mouth twists as he picks out the dark circles under Joe’s eyes, the smudge of dirt along his jaw, the cracked texture of his lips. He doesn’t have to be a doctor to know Joe hasn’t been taking care of himself, wherever he’s been all this time.

Letting his gaze trail further down, Caspar’s worry deepens at the gash across the left side of Joe’s chest. He has to physically stop himself from reaching out to run his fingers over the poor stitching work, or to try and scratch away the dried blood stains surrounding it. “You better not have bled on these nice white sheets,” Caspar mutters, more as a cover for his confusion and utter fear for Joe’s life beyond his supposed death.

“I didn’t,” Joe mumbles back, and Caspar starts ever so slightly, eyes warily moving back up to meet Joe’s now open ones.

They’re both silent for a moment, although neither makes the move to detach from the other. Caspar is heavily aware of both his hands in the moment, one furled in Joe’s mess of hair, and the other pressed lightly over his left shoulder, where the skin is still smooth and unbroken.

“Hey,” Joe finally begins, visibly searching Caspar’s face for something.

“You still have nightmares?” Caspar blurts out, trying to cover his turmoil of emotions.

Joe was always good at picking out the parts Caspar didn’t want him to see, but maybe five years had changed them both, because he didn’t mention anything. “Yeah.”

Caspar slowly drags his left hand away, scratching at the back of his neck. “Have you, uh, eaten or anything yet?”

Joe shakes his head, watching every movement Caspar makes like a rabbit watching a hawk. Ironic, Caspar thinks, considering Joe’s probably the safer one here in the end zone.

“I’ve got work in like, two hours or something, but there’s leftovers in the fridge, so you’re welcome to eat that. Or there’s a nice Indian takeaway just down the road if you don’t want chicken, and you can always call and get something delivered if-“

Joe’s hand had shot up, covering Caspar’s mouth like it was dangerous. Caspar probably would’ve treated as such, if it weren’t for the mirth twinkling in Joe’s eyes. “Thanks, Cas, that’s plenty.”

Caspar bites his lip, averting his gaze elsewhere. “Well, if you’re fine now, I guess I’ll go get ready and stuff.” Pushing his way out, he lets Joe’s head hit the bed with an ungraceful thump, before hurriedly retreating from the room. He sighs heavily as the door snicks shut behind him, although he’s 90% sure he just heard the same sound from Joe not a second earlier.

—

Caspar’s shift passes in a blur, with the amount of customers coming through. It’s the closing hours that are the real killers, between the end-of-school hour to the hour of late workers. Caspar doesn’t mind though; it gives him something to do and keeps his mind from overthinking the little things. Like what _’_ s Joe doing right now? and how _’_ d he get into that room if it was nailed shut?

Will also joined him after five pm, which only served to brighten Caspar’s day. Will was one of the people Caspar could trust to uphold the banter, and it certainly made for a better shift when they were scheduled together.

Will had already disappeared by the time Caspar finished washing up in the back room, but Caspar didn’t mind. The keys jangled in his pocket as he left the store, humming happily and smiling at the people he passes. For the most part, they smile back, and Caspar feels infinitely hopeful for the night ahead. Even a mysterious, dead-friend Joe couldn’t drag him down now.

Or so he thought. Three steps into the apartment, Caspar’s confronted with a scratchy note left by the key dish, and he finds his spirits dropping inexplicably.

Gone out for while, won _’_ t be back until late.

Don _’_ t stay up.

-Joe.

_—_

“Knock knock, it’s me,” Alfie calls, tucking Marcus’ jacket tighter over his shoulders. His legs were aching, and he was more than okay with just collapsing into his armchair with a good movie and a cup of Marcus’ tea, but he couldn’t give up either. He’d been everywhere he could think of, all over this half of the city questioning various witches and some of the friendlier magical beings, but no one had heard of any odd presences or the like. One old man had claimed he’d seen an old hag knocking from door to door asking for amazake, of all things, but the man’s son had pulled Alfie aside later, and explained that the man had been spouting all kinds of random things over the past week, and so Alfie probably shouldn’t take the information too seriously.

“Come in!” Louise shouts cheerily, although the door swings wide before Alfie has the chance to touch it. He lets himself in, pulling his shoes off and shrugging his stolen coat onto the rack. The apartment is warm, and it feels like a second home; Alfie can’t picture a better place to be when all else seems lost.

“In the kitchen!” Niomi calls, followed by a bout of laughter. Alfie follows the noise, leaning around the doorframe to peak in.

Three women crowd around the stove in the tiny kitchen. Alfie recognises Louise, who’s tying her hair back, and Niomi, but not the third, whom Niomi is hugging. The pot on the stove bubbles loudly, giving off a bright pink steam that’s probably the source of the delicious smell in the apartment.

“It was so good to see you!” Niomi choruses, leaning back from the newcomer. “You have to promise to visit more, now that you live in the city!”

The stranger laughs happily, a pretty little sound, and breaks away. “Of course, I missed you guys so much! I’ll be back day after tomorrow with your orders anyway, but until then-“

“Bye~!” Louise calls, as the woman turns around. Alfie barely has the time to register her sweet smile in his direction before she’s whisking away towards the door, a black skirt flowing around her ankles like water.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Louise and Niomi burst into fits of laughter, directing their bright glances towards Alfie. He can only guess at the expression he’d made when the woman had brushed past him, but he knew it must’ve been incriminating by the way Louise is looking at him now.

“She was pretty,” Alfie shrugs, backing away from the kitchen. “I’m not going to defend myself.”

Louise follows him, still giggling. “Yeah, but you said Niomi was pretty the first time you met her, too. You didn’t give her a look like that!”

Alfie slumps into the couch, immediately wriggling around until he’s comfortable. “Shut up.”

Louise settles across from him, tucking her feet up underneath her. “I doubt you came here to ogle my friends.”

Crossing his arms, Alfie huffs. “I was not ogling, she just walked past. That’s all.”

“Right.”

“Whatever. Marcus sent me out to find out anything about a demon or new spirit in town, but it seems no one’s got any information at all.”

Louise tips her head, silent for a moment. “I don’t know anything, but Niomi might’ve heard something at the coven meet last weekend.”

Right on cue, Niomi’s voice rings out from the kitchen. “Alf, do me a favour and try this?”

Alfie twists around, holding his hands out to accept the teacup Niomi is transporting across the room. “What’re you doing?”

“Just testing out the new batch of rose hips I plucked yesterday. My order for of damiana arrived last night, too, so why not?”

Alfie twists the cup, watching the pink tinged liquid slosh around. “This isn’t going to kill me, right?”

“Not any more than your crop of elder flowers will.”

Alfie glares at her over the rim of the china cup, taking a sip. “I’ll have you know my elder flowers are doing fine, thanks.”

“That’s not what Marcus said,” Louise chimes in with a grin. Alfie just groans, drinking more of the tea. He can’t help but admit that it does actually taste good.

“What’s this supposed to be doing to me?” he asks, taking another large gulp.

“It’s a love spell,” Niomi says nonchalantly, perching on the opposite edge of the sofa and smiling down. “Is it good?”

Alfie frowns, slowly pulling the cup from his lips. “You’re joking.”

“Nope! But tell me, how is it?”

“Terrible. Hate it. Tastes like the lovechild of an akaname and the dirtiest bathroom in the world.”

Niomi beams, leaning forward until she’s collapsed lengthways against Alfie, pressing him into a tight hug. “Aw, thank you Alfie, I knew you’d like it!”

“Alfie’s hunting down a demon,” Louise announces conversationally, picking up the newspaper from the end table by her arm chair and flicking through it.

“You’re not,” Niomi says, arching her eyebrows disbelievingly. “Isn’t that-“

“Dangerous? Probably.”

Niomi levers herself further away, cocking her head to the right. “You haven’t asked our resident hunter?”

“Resident?” Alfie asks, setting his tea cup on the ground and pushing himself upright a little. “Didn’t know we had anyone like that here.”

“She means in this part of the city, not necessarily this building, dimwit.”

Alfie maintains his frown carefully, squinting at Niomi. “Who’ve you brought into town now? It wasn’t that girl from earlier, right?”

“You wish!” Niomi laughs, breaking away entirely and squirming about until she was comfortably perched on Alfie’s shins.

“It’s that new apothecary shop thing,” Louise explains, tearing at the newspaper until she forms a single small square around what appears to be an advertisement. “They’re advertising all kinds of services. I was actually going to head there myself on the weekend, it’d be much easier to buy amulets there than to ship them from South Africa.”

“Huh,” is all Alfie can say, accepting the slip of paper and glancing over it. “You think they’ll be able to help?”

“I’m assuming you’ve tried everywhere else already?”

Alfie nods.

“Then you have nothing to lose.”

—

“Mind telling me what the fuck is a bakeneko?” is Dan’s greeting the next morning, when Phil finally stumbles out in search of coffee. Dan’s been awake for hours, curled up on the couch and scrolling social media. In all retrospect, he can’t actually remember sleeping, but judging by the dark circles under his eyes, Phil hadn’t slept much either.

“Don’t you have class today?” Phil asks, pausing in his coffee-preparation-steps to yawn widely.

“Not until twelve. What time did the cat end up leaving?”

Phil hums softly, shuffling his feet as the coffee machine begins to warm up. “Do you want a lift? I was heading into town anyway.”

“Phil,” Dan says, giving a dead expression as Phil sticks his tongue out. “What’s going on?”

Phil shrugs, rubbing his hands together to bring them back to life. The morning chill in this apartment really was quite horrid, but Dan didn’t want to be the one to call the landlord complaining. “She maybe kind of never left.”

“Phil!” Dan repeats, this time in exasperation. He’d expected this, had definitely seen it coming considering Phil hadn’t been in his bedroom even once last night, but it was still part of the process to act annoyed. “You can’t keep every stray you come across!”

“Sophie is not not a stray, she is a spirit,” Phil chides mildly, yawning again. “Besides, she’ll be gone today, I just didn’t want her out on the streets at that time of night.”

“Phil, she’s strong enough to kill a man with a blink, I doubt the streets are going to do her any harm.”

“Daniel, I’m not going to kick out a perfectly nice girl when there’s no immediate danger to us, that’s it!”

Dan rolls his eyes, turning back to face his laptop. “Perfectly nice my ass,” he mutters.

“I heard that!”

“Good,” Dan hisses, watching as Phil carries two mugs of coffee back down the hall, and a tub of yoghurt tucked in the crook of his elbow.

“I’ll be out in time for lunch I think, but if I don’t see you before then, good luck with your presentation today!”

Dan groans, sinking further into the couch. He had yet to start work on any such presentation.

 _There’s still a few hours left,_ he muses, opening a new tab in his browser and punching in the url for Tumblr.

—

“So, if you haven’t had a body all this time, then how were you watching Netflix when we summoned you?” Phil asks, blowing over the rim of his mug as Sophie relentlessly touches everything tangible nearby.

“I’ve actually just been hanging out with this witch, he’s been helping me stay entertained, and in return I’ve helped him with some of the…less material parts of magic.”

Phil nods. “You mentioned him earlier, right? He was the one who suggested you try anime.”

Sophie grins, holding her hand to her face and twitching her fingers. “He wanted me to watch Studio Jeeb or something,” she explains, ears flicking as she clicks her claws against each other.

“Studio Ghibli,” Phil corrects, wriggling his feet back under the blanket. The bed was still warm thanks to Sophie, who seemed to give off a large amount of unnecessary heat. “What was his name? I might be able to help get you back.”

Sophie pauses, shuffling awkwardly and staring down at the ruffled blankets. “He-uh, I never-“

“You never got his name?” Phil chokes, spluttering on his coffee. “How can you not know who he is?”

Sophie recoils with a hiss, looking rather affronted. “I asked, he just never told! He said that calling him ‘PJ’ was more than fine by him, and probably easier too.”

“Pee-jay?”

“PJ. Like the two roman letters.”

Phil shrugs, lowering his mug slightly. “Can’t say I’ve heard of him, sorry. What’s he- PJ, what’s PJ do? What kind of witch is he?”

Sophie thumbs at her lip, staring up at the ceiling. “He was always creating things whenever I was there. He sells the things he makes on the internet, or at the market.” She pauses to chuckle lightly. “Those were always the best days, when he let me come with him and just watch all the different people.”

Phil clicks his fingers, cheering inwardly. “I bet he was an art witch! There’s not many of them around, it shouldn’t be too hard to find him. I’ll ask around today when I go out shopping, there’s bound to be someone who knows him.”

Sophie claps happily, smiling widely. “And while you’re gone, I can keep trying to remember where he lives.”

Phil nods enthusiastically, levering himself out of the bed again, now that there is an actual purpose to his day beyond menial chores. “We’ll get you home yet, Sophie, don’t you worry!”

—

“The cactus print is cute,” Connor comments, pointing to a glass candle dish on one of the lower shelves.

“Would it suit the aesthetic, though?” Troye mumbles, shaking his head. “I don’t think there’s anything here.”

“Troye, it’s a candle, I don’t think the appearance matters that much in the long run,” Tyler moans, stretching out across the ground like some kind of insolent adder.

Troye scoffs, crossing his arms and crouching down the look through the next row of merchandise. “I wouldn’t expect a _raccoon_ to understand.”

“That was uncalled for, don’t come for me,” Tyler says, holding up his finger until points to the ceiling. “We’ve been here for _hours_.”

“It’s been like, ten minutes at most.”

The door to the shop dings as another customer enters, followed by a cheery welcome from behind the front counter. Tyler’s muttering something incomprehensible, probably consisting of only sarcasm and sass, but Troye isn’t listening anymore. He doesn’t move from his crouch, picking up another candle and pretending to inspect it closely, all his senses tuned to the newcomer.

_He’s anxious._

“Hey man, I’m looking for someone called Josh?”

_Why?_

“The one and only,” Josh laughs, and Troye can feel the stranger’s anxiety deplete tenfold. By now, Tyler has caught on to Troye’s meddling, and is carefully watching like always. Troye would forever complain about Tyler’s worrisome attitude, but he would also be the first to admit that things can go south quicker than he can tear away, therefore justifying Tyler’s anxious attitude to an extent.

“I need to talk with you-“ pause. “In private.”

Troye can feel the customer’s eyes boring into his back, but he doesn’t make any outward recognition. Tyler is practically bristling on the ground, glaring holes into the roof, and Connor’s maintaining his signature smile without a seeming worry. “How about this candle, Sam?” Connor asks cheerfully.

Troye takes the stick of wax from Connor’s hand, absent-mindedly turning it over in his palm. _Connor doesn’t trust them either_ , he muses, _otherwise there’s no reason for the sudden name change._

Troye sighs, shaking his head. “This one’s no good, it’s too thin. I want it to be perfect for _dinner_ tonight, and I’m worried this will just fall over.”

 _“I don’t want to panic these humans,”_ bursts in the stray thought from the stranger, and Troye has to hold back from laughing out loud.

Humans? Hardly.

“Sure, there’s a room just this way,” Josh leads, his voice growing distant as he takes the business elsewhere.

_“I sure hope this guy knows something, it’d make everything easier for sure.”_

Troye raises an eyebrow, rising to his feet. He wants to press further, catch more than just the loudest thoughts, but he’s wary too; he’d never hear the end of it from Tyler if he managed to trip yet _another_ protection spell.

 _“Demons? Really?”_ Josh’s voice floods over, and Troye flinches, glancing over to Tyler and Connor. Neither seem any worse for wear, although Tyler’s definitely starting to suspect something.

_“He doesn’t know anything, Marcus is going to be dis-“_

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop,” someone chants from above, breaking Troye’s concentration into a thousand pieces. “Troye Sivan, you should know better by now, tsk.”

Troye sighs, raising his head to meet the mirthful stare above. “Morning to you too, Zoe.”

Zoe giggles, stretching her arms up until her palms are pressed flat against the ceiling. She’s standing on top of the shelf, which is not at all surprising considering the places she’s managed to find - and interrupt - Troye from before.

“Who’re we spying on?” she asks, slipping down until she’d seated on the edge of the oak shelving, legs swinging over the edge precariously close to the glass candle holders.

“No one,” Troye grumbles, turning away. It was probably too late now to try and tune back in anyway.

“Sour puss,” Zoe teases, a thump telling of her return to solid ground. “Was it interesting?”

Troye opens his mouth to tell her just exactly how much interesting information he _didn’t_ hear, when Josh’s voice beats him. “Zoe? Is that you?”

Zoe sighs. “Yeah?”

“Can you spare a minute?”

Zoe gives Troye a look, and begins to head off in the direction of Josh’s disembodied voice. “We’ll finish this later, Troye-boy. Nice seeing you Ty, Connor.” She waves over her shoulder, before disappearing around the corner.

Troye groans, pressing his head into his hands. That _private_ conversation could’ve been extremely important, and by the looks of things, Zoe was about to learn more unconditionally, while Troye was still left floundering in the dark. “Let’s just buy the candle and get out of here. I think I’m more than ready to project tonight.”

—

Joe collapses into the couch with a groan, holding the ice pack to his arm. Josh could’ve at least _healed_ him, for god’s sake; he already wasn’t paying Joe enough for this bullshit.

Right on cue, Joe’s phone began to buzz in his pocket, the familiar ringtone causing Joe to groan again, louder and longer.

“What,” he growls into the phone once it’s pressed to his ear.

“Hey, chill, I was just checking you were still alive. You haven’t come back to the store yet, that’s all.”

Joe coughs awkwardly, sitting upright. “Yeah, I’m at a- I’m with a friend.”

If Josh has his suspicions, he doesn’t show them, laughing jovially. “Okay, whatever man, Oli’s already brought the parts back, just head round whenever you can to pick up your money.”

The line cuts out, and Joe sighs, rubbing a hand over his face as the phone drops to the cushions. In all honesty, he’s not sure _why_ he returned to Caspar’s apartment after his job; it’s not like Joe lives here anymore. Logically, he should’ve left a note thanking Caspar for his hospitality, and been on his way, no more. Joe highly doubted Caspar had any inkling of the magic community, considering he hadn’t picked up on all the wards Joe had cast against every door, or even just the strong _stink_ of magic that seemed to follow Joe everywhere, which meant it was dangerous to stick around in case Joe unwillingly brought something home. It happened more often than he wanted to admit, but it had never been any trouble because of who he lived and interacted with on a daily basis. Mixing Caspar with an otherworldly being was just a recipe for disaster.

Joe shifts the ice pack on his arm when it begins to burn into his skin, dropping it lower until it covers the other half of the slowly forming bruise. He doesn’t really want to think about it, but Joe is almost certain something… _changed_ , yesterday morning. Originally, the plan had been to erase Caspar’s recent memory, just like every job that involved breaking and entering, but apparently that wasn’t the go anymore. Joe’s highly doubtful that he could even try and pull off something that taxing on a larger scale - memories of ten minutes is bad enough, but it’s been several days now.

Joe fumbles around, tapping out a number into his phone before he can reconsider his options. It rings three times over.

“Joe, buddy, what’s up!”

Joe smiles weakly, despite being alone - maybe it’s _because_ he’s alone that he does it. “Hey, Oli. You free?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for such a wait, this has been sitting in my drafts since ever. It's longer this time, but I cut the original in half so that I could a. get a chapter out sooner, and b. make for a better end overall (it would've been intangible and messy otherwise, trust me).
> 
> Don't worry if things don't make sense, or all this Japanese myth language is going over your head, we'll get to explanations soon. Feel free to use google though cause like, I say soon but the next chapter probably won't be out for ages (just being realistic here).

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: oji-tash.tumblr.com  
> this work tagged as "/tagged/ftytd" on tumblr


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